CHAPTER 20

Commotion rose from one corner of the rough wall, bouncing on the edge and spreading through every side as Jide and his father stepped into the throne room. It was hard to move a muscle, not with the men, squabbling like little ducks quarreling over a little fish. Standing there did not add any light to Maduka’s ignorance. Too many people were talking at the same time. Too much verbiage.

Snorting he pointed to the space on the right, some strides from the throne. Jide lowered the seat and settled it so that it could balance on the lumpy floor.

The throne was empty, no wonder the noise from the elders. Even the palace guards were absent. It was not strange but Maduka could feel the emptiness slacking with laxity. This has never happened before, not in a long while. The last time the king had been late to court, was the day his only son and heir to the throne, had fallen sick and had died the day after. Yes, it was not strange for the King to be late, but not to this extent.

“Are you alright, Papa?”

Maduka looked down at the angelic eyes of his son, and the concern in them mellowed the irritation that was building in his heart. He couldn’t help the smile that smeared his face as he nodded to assure the young lad. The boy was more beautiful than handsome and Maduka could guess the amount of money he could have made if Jide was a girl. Rich men all around the village would have been begging to have his hand in marriage. That’s where the money is.

Setting down his bag, he rested his weight on the seat and spread the antelope skin so that Jide could sit on them. Jide was an accident but a blessing in disguise. From the first day Maduka got married to his betrothed, they had prayed earnestly to the gods for children. Not just any children but for warriors too. Children that would take his place in the circle of life and free their people from the hands of the freeborn. But in the end, what had the gods done? They had blessed him with a single child. A child that had the looks of a girl but was a boy. A child whom the Diviners had predicted would die before the age of five. Jide was seven now and healthy. His life has defiled the predictions of the diviners, for the first time in the history of the people. Everything about Jide was a testimony, and while Maduka might not like his girlish appearance, he was glad to have a son. A son that would inherit his properties when he dies.

“What are you thinking about, Papa? Don’t tell me you are worried sick again.”

“No,” Maduka laughed, “I am just trying to reflect on some things,”

Maduka waited for Jide to ask another question, but the boy only nodded and returned his gaze to the men that were still arguing. It was odd but Maduka was glad that Jide was imbibing his instructions. Soon he would become a man and if he doesn’t learn the art of listening, how can he take the place of his father in the council of elders?

“I thought this was meant to be a genteel proceeding,” Jide asked, still not breaking his gaze from the elders.

“It still is, and will forever be.”

“But,” Jide turned his attention to his father.

Maduka rolled his eyes in return as he braced himself for what’s coming. Jide was a talking bird. Maybe it’s because of his girlish appearance, or maybe Obidiya had consumed a patriot at the time of his conception.

“This does not testify to your claims. With this upheaval, I can bet the life of my father, that even our so-called elders have the propensity for brawling.”

“I am your father, Jide," Maduka laughs "And my life will not be placed on any of your silly bets.”

“That’s the spirit, Papa. I was looking for something to wipe that gloom from your face. You fell for it." Jide grinned, "you owe me a fresh rabbit.”

"I wonder where you learned such craftiness."

"Oh, you tell me" Jide's smile widens, "like father like son I must say. A true son of the soil"

The mischievous smile made Maduka chuckle. That was one side about Jide that he was still trying so hard to knit. True that Jide has that annoying edge about him sometimes, but Jide understands him better than anyone else. Not even his wife could match his wisdom and understanding.

The courtroom suddenly grew quiet and for the first time since they arrived, some of the elders noticed them and waved their hands over their heads to greet him, just as the tradition entails. The presence of the King seemed to have cleared the argument and had returned the formalities of the elders.

Red robe and beads lined the King's neck, contrasting with the white wristband. On his crown were four falcon feathers, representing the four market days in Igbo land. Hot on his heel were three palace guards—instead of six—heavily armed with bows, arrows, and spears.

Maduka shifted his weight on his seat as something in his stomach snapped. There was a problem. The feeling was heavily in the air now, and he could see them in the dark eyes of the king. The King had skipped the normal procession too. He had taken the back door, a door meant for emergencies.

“Igwe eee” The entire elders raised their staff in respect.

The king ignored them, scratching his beard that was almost touching his upper chest. His shoulders were hanging with muscles that seemed to be forcing their way out of his robe. Even though he was older than anyone in the room, the smooth expression and the creaseless features gave him a baby look. For one who has given his strength to women, Maduka was expecting age to kick in. But it turns out the strength of the royal blood was just running too deep. It would take a long generation after now, for the people to find a true bloodline of Kiantu, owing to this present king's predicament.

“Ewu atalam igwu n’isi (an abomination has happened)” The hoarse voice of the King resounded and the quietness in the room returned.

Maduka swallowed and watched with the others. Whatever it was that troubles the king, he was ready to let his reasons for coming to the palace wait. If the King was grieving, then there was no point laying down his problem with the town crier. After all, the town crier was a messenger of the King. If the house of the King was already on fire, what is the significance of adding a smoldering ember?”

“O gini? (what is it?)” Iche Echefu asked.

The rest of the elders nodded their heads as if the older man had seen through their thoughts and had voiced them out. There were about ten elders in the room. Not a full house, but large enough to move motions that could change the fate of the village. While Maduka was only a warrior, his statues among the elders were recognized. Especially in trying times like this.

“Our emissary and mediators arrived today from the village of Utaku” The king breathed in heavily and slouched on his seat. “The people of Utaku have refused negotiation. They only want one thing. Blood. They want war.”

Perhaps it was the soothing wind that steered into the room, Maduka could not explain the wintry chill that strode from the crown of his head to the soul of his feet, making the hair on his skin stand. War? How can that be? Why now? He swallowed and looked down at Jide. The boy seemed distracted with the other children that had helped their fathers to carry their wooden stool. He was ignorant. Everyone but the King was ignorant. They have not seen the ills of war. They have not seen their fellow brothers-in-arms slaughtered in their presence. They only know stories of gallant men and some brave women. Only a few have been in the dance themselves. Only a few have felt the weight of a real sword.

“If they want war, then war we shall give them,” Ichie Echefu said for the second time, and some ignoramus in the room nodded their heads in approval.

Silence held the room captives as the elders weighed the words of the King and Ichie Echefu. The people of Utaku are not just skilled, they also have the numbers and the weapons. Going to war against them was worse than suicide. It was like going out to fight death itself.

“What did you say, old man?” Someone asked.

Nobody responded at first, not until the king sat up and studied his companion.

“Who said that?” he asked when he recognized the unfamiliar voice.

The words seemed to linger for a while until every eye in the room turned in Maduka’s direction. Maduka was confused too, but his confusion cleared when Jide spoke again.

“I did."

If Maduka had the power, he would have cuddled up like a ball and allowed the ground to swallow him. Jide was a fool. If he thinks this meeting was for children, then he better think again.

“I am sorry, my lord” Maduka dragged Jide back to his seat, glaring dangerously at him to remain quiet. “He does not mean—

“Let the child speak” The King cut in.

Maduka gulped and released Jide’s hand. His heart was already racing. Jide was going to put him in trouble.

“The neighbors can shout, the midwives can scream, but only a woman in labor knows how excruciating the pain of childbirth is,” Jide said and Maduka’s jaw dropped when Jide pointed his young fingers at Ichie Echefu. “I presume you have never been to war. You are like a dog that barks with its tail. Like a hunter that runs away from a toothless lion. Like a king that leads its subject to battle only to retire to the comforting kisses of his mistresses.”

You don't point a finger at your elders. Let alone an Amadi (freeborn) A voice yelled in Maduka's head as he watched his young boy with shame.

“How dare you speak to me with such impudence?” Ichie Echefu fumed. The heat in his glare could warm cold water.

Maduka breathed out and swallowed, hard enough that for some passing moments, he thought he had swallowed his esophagus. He wished Jide would stop. He wished this curse of a child would not bring more shame and trouble to him.